Tell Me Something
by GreenWithAwesome
Summary: The eight year-old heiress to the Schnee Dust Company just wanted someone to talk to. Oneshot.


The noises were loud. Loud, jolly, drinks clanging, laughing, shoes clacking against the wooden floor. There was movement – much movement, behind the towering shut doors into the conference room. Unlike in the corridor outside, where jovial nature was not shared. There was no laughing, no drinks clanging, no laughing, and certainly minimal movement. No-one was outside in the corridor when the party was in the room where wine was spilt in merry nature.

Except one.

The door was shut tight. Push as the young girl might, it did not move, did not fall ajar so that she could slip inside and steal the cocktail sausages and sample the chocolate-coated strawberries. They were as solid as stone, as frozen as the numerous suits of armour lining the hallway.

The girl wanted to go inside. Somewhere, in that room, her father was sipping on champagne and chatting heartily to his colleagues. What success did they have? She did not know. She just wanted to go inside. She just wanted to see him.

With a knock, the girl hoped that someone would hear her open the doors. But as she rapped, in tune with the drumbeat of her heart, the music only seemed to heighten. The laughing only became more cacophonous. She stood, but no-one came.

Then, by chance, the doors pushed open. An adult – one of her father's colleagues, no doubt, stepped out in her high-heeled shoes – clack. The girl looked up at her, beamed a smile, pushing up her cheeks – but the woman did not notice her.

"Yes, I'm just going to use the facilities. My, this house is so huge," the little girl watched as she glided down the hallway, melting into the darkness like a shroud of black had cloaked her. But the girl turned back to the door – it was open. She skipped inside.

It was loud. It was jolly. Drinks were clanging, people were laughing, shoes were clacking against the wooden floor, there was a strong smell of fresh food and plated goods, and she could barely hear her own voice speak in her head. This didn't stop her though. When she had a destination, a plan, she was going to make it there no matter what.

The father was by the ceiling-high windows, his hair sticking to his forehead, his guffaws wild and liberated, his fingers gripping his glass with unneeded tension. The people he shared his laughter seemed in a totally different world to him, for his eyes were unfocused. For a moment, her heart froze like stone. He didn't look good at all, and she was fearful.

What was she thinking? This was the greatest man to set foot in history ever – the current owner of her grandfather's company. Manufacturers of Dust. It was huge, and there wasn't a person in the entirety of Vytal that hadn't heard their name. Schnee. Wear it with pride.

The little girl slipped through the legs of many of the employees – tall, short, large, thin. She was small, so she could slip through them like a monkey through cage bars. It didn't bother her, it didn't bother them. They didn't even notice a young girl, dressed in her pyjamas with snowflakes littered all over, mazing through their legs. They were too occupied with their own feelings.

She reached him – upon closer inspection, he looked worse. The bags under his eyes were deep, like valleys, and his breath was short and deprived. But he was the director of the Schnee Dust Company. He was invincible.

"Father?" she whispered. He didn't hear her, or see her – none of the group he was with saw her either. After calling for him several times, the little girl resorted to pulling on his trouser leg. Then he looked down, his eyes glazed over.

"Weiss!" his words slurred a little, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm bored. I want to play with someone," she said – shouted. The music was bleeding at her ears, and the mutters of people were making her feel tiny, a drop of snow amongst a hailstorm.

Her father gripped on his glass tighter, "Weiss, not now. I'm in the middle of a party."

"Parties are for celebrating," said Weiss, with a smile, "Can I celebrate with you? What are you celebrating?"

"An adult party. Not for you," he said, "Now, go back to your room. There are plenty of toys to play with there."

"Father," said the girl – she had to stand on her tiptoes, she could not hear what he said, "I'm bored of the toys. I want to play with someone."

"Weiss," her father said, more firmly, "I cannot play with you. Go back to your room."

She could not hear what he said. Someone had dropped their glass and wine was wasted, "But father-"

Then, she saw storm clouds. The room just seemed to darken. Her father… why did his forehead crease? Why did his eyebrows dip down and slice into his eyes, and his pearly teeth clench? Weiss did not understand. She just wanted someone to talk too.

"Go to your room now, young lady," he snapped, his arm jerking to his side and curling into a fist, "_Right_ now, Weiss."

Weiss knew better. She knew not to disobey her father. He was invincible, and his word was law. She nodded – he was busy, clearly. He did not have time to talk to his daughter. His work was far more important, of course. Weiss understood that.

She let go of his trouser leg. It was creased now, like his forehead… although when she looked up, she could no longer see his face crease. In fact, she could no longer see his face at all. He had turned back to his colleagues. They were loud again. They were making jokes and offering toasts and grinning with plastic faces.

So the little girl gave up. Her father was busy.

She turned back around, darting through the legs maze again. She knew she was lucky to be a Schnee – Schnee's were fortunate and rich. Plus, she had a beautiful mother as well. She was wonderful, caring, and she loved her very much. And she had divine hair to match, too. The young girl knew she was so lucky to have inherited her mother's hair.

Where would her mother be? Weiss knew. She would be in her bedroom, celebrating as well with her close-knit circle of friends. Maybe she would let her celebrate with them?

The door was still open. She slipped through again, back into the hallway. It was cold – not like the party, where life thrived and people were cheerful. Out here it was dead. Out here would be a place where everything good was hidden from the inside world. Skipping through the hallways did seem to help – her slippers would knock noisily against the floor, and then, when she passed the windows, she could inhale the view… A view she had already spent hours inhaling.

Up a flight of stairs, up two, up five. That lady was right – her house _was _huge. She just hadn't thought of it like that though, since she had lived there her entire life. Each step was a trek, but a trek she was willing to make so she could see her family.

As she rose taller through the floors, the ceilings began to heighten, until they were so big Weiss was sure you could fit an ark's worth of Grimm inside. She didn't like Grimm... but who did? Weiss was sure that those brave Hunters and Huntresses could do a good job of protecting the people, protecting her family… protecting her.

The curtains began to look less overbearing as she ascended flights. The higher parts of their mansion were for family only – no business conducted on these floors. Only private matters. The furnishings liked to the reflect that. Weiss liked that too. She always felt more at home upstairs than down.

As she walked through numerous corridors, the same loud noises could be heard. Uproarious laughter. Glasses dinging. Shoes echoing. It sounded the same to Weiss, except definitely more female.

Her mother's dressing room was large. She had her own walk-in wardrobe, and three vanity tables dedicated to her make-up. Her mother did like to collect her clothes. They were pretty clothes.

She neared the door. One knock, two knocks, three knocks, four. It was long until her persistence elicited response, when none other than her mother opened the door. Her long, snowy hair was thrown over one shoulder, her dressing gown wrapped around her petite figure like a Christmas present, the scent of fresh and strong nail polish leaking into the corridor environment. Weiss looked up, and she smiled, but her mother wasn't smiling.

"Weiss, dear, not now. Mother is with her friends," she said softly, bending her knees to reach her daughter's height, and pet her on the head. The little girl's smile faded.

"But mother, I'm bored. I have no-one to play with."

Her mother dropped her smile too, like she was a mirror on the wall, "Sweetheart, there are plenty of toys in your room. Why, just last week I bought you the rocking chair that you always wished for in the toyshop down in Vale city centre-"

"I don't want to play with my toys," she stated, cutting her mother off, "I want to play with someone. I want to celebrate with you. It's more fun."

"_Weiss_," her mother chided, "What did I tell you about interrupting someone?"

"Sorry." Weiss was not sorry.

"Good. Now, go to your room and play with your toys. Mother is busy." Before the young girl could beg again, her mother closed the door, a crack of thunder amongst a graveyard. At first, there was complete silence. Quiet. Only the ghostly presence of her mother rang in her mind – and then, the loud noises again. The laughter. All seeping from underneath the crack of the door to her mother's dressing room.

Weiss understood. Her mother _and_ father were busy. Mother was busy with her pretty friends, all celebrating the completion of the deal in their own way, separated from their peers, painting their nails and combing through their flowing hair. And father was downstairs with his colleagues. That was okay; her mother just wanted her private time and her father just needed some space.

Her room seemed more inviting than normal. Weiss plodded down several more corridors until she reached her quarters, a sprawling room that could easily be split into three with a king-size bed fit for a princess. A canopy draped over, adorned with lace stars and embroidered moons. Plus two sofas, a flat-screen HD television, her own en-suite, walk-in wardrobe and two vanity tables. Not to mention all of her toys, which she kept in to one corner, for neatness.

And then there was her mirror. It was the size of a generous bookcase, and shaped like a castle, and although the little girl could only reach up to about a metre in its height, she really loved her mirror. She saw herself, big white eyes, staring back, and her dainty figure, rocking back and forth. Her ponytail was smack-bang in the middle of her head, positioned with precision.

But the only thing the girl didn't like about her mirror was that it could not hide the obvious. The distant gaze, the tiny frown, the sombre and cold face, sparing a glance in her direction. Her mirror was a reminder… a reminder of how her mother and father were always absent, too busy to care about their daughter that craved their attention.

Her mirror told her something. It told her who was the loneliest of all.

_Fin._

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First time writing anything like this so hope you enjoyed it!

Just having many Weiss feels after rewatching RWBY and listening to Mirror Mirror. She's a complex character and I think it's no secret that her past was difficult. I hope I portrayed that.

I'd love a review/ favourite/ author follow! Thanks for reading!

~ GD


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